


Living Dead Girl

by casstayinmyass



Category: Rob Zombie (Musician)
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Inspired by a Music Video, Mad Science, Mad Scientists, Murder, Pining, Song Lyrics, Song: Living Dead Girl, Songfic, Story Behind The Video, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-18 18:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: You're the Doctor's apprentice. He works tirelessly, day and night, on his creation, with no regard for you... or your feelings toward him.





	Living Dead Girl

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BvsMPOfblfg this is the video it's based off of!

His hands work away and his mind toils as the clock strikes twelve. He is endlessly devoted to his work. I watch on in awe-- in awe of his hands, in awe of that mind. He puts science to shame, yet none of those who would give his voice power listen. 

To bring to life a lifeless girl. 

His own life's work lay before him on the table, tools jutting out around her head like a halo. Though I tell him so, he reminds me with some sort of lustful passion that this work is anything but angelic. Still-- she is beautiful. Or, she was.

I've been by his side for years, since I was a young girl, watching him work, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of his methodical weaving, the nimble movements of fingers. They strangely do not reflect his years of biochemical pursuit in his unmarred skin. After days of fruitless experiment with the natural sciences, he turned to the mystic arts. Now he is closer than ever.

No matter what he does, proven or otherwise, I have been in love with the Doctor for 4,380 days. I remain still The Assistant. 

"Watch her eyelids," he tells me. Each thing he speaks is in firm command; I've never seen a tender side of him, but I live in hope. "See them flutter?" I do not see them flutter. Perhaps he lives in hope too.

-

I sit beside him in the library as he plunders through text after text of old arcane magik, waving his hands about wildly as he explains with fervour just how to achieve flawless reanimation. 

"There's only one sure way to bring the giant down!" Through his round spectacles, he reads from the pages of a heavy book, which to the uneducated ear, sound like the ravings of a madman. He might just be a madman. I don't mind. "--Defunct the strings of cemetery things, with one flat foot** on the devil's**..." he displays a drawing, "**wing**." I watch in awe. 

"All those things play a part in bringing to life the dead girl?" 

He nods, and chuckles. "Ancient magik. I never used to believe it. I still don't know if I do." 

"Well. You'll know what to do, even if it doesn't work the first time. You always do," I offer with a smile. I can tell that I lifted his spirits, if only a little. He takes off his hat that had been perched atop his long black hair. 

"You know better than any," he rasps. I sigh, drinking from the goblet. He shares my drink with a sip as well._ Should I tell him? _

"I will raise her from the pits," he tells me suddenly, eyes darting down, where he knows The Body is waiting for us in the cellar. "She's all I have." 

I try not to ignore the ache. 

-

Early hours of the morning darken his laboratory. He draws nearer to making the dead walk, and I know he'll reach the supernaturally impossible soon. I can feel it. 

It's just gone sunset-- another sunset. I eagerly wait at his side, staring down at The Body. Her hair tumbles down in a ghoulish white, lacing through the black locks left from life. I touch her hand. I have never felt so close to death. 

His dark eyes meet with mine. I see the glimmer of thrill, but when I reach out to take his hand too, he turns away, toward her. He gazes down at her, infatuation evident. He closes his eyes, and mumbles the words: 

** _"Crawl on me._ **

_Sink into me._

_Sponte creat mei._

_Descendat in me._

_Crawl on me. _

_Sink into me..._

_Mortua puella viventem." _

A puff of smoke envelopes us, and I hear his low voice, clear through the crackle: 

**"The dead walk."**

Her eyes open, like a beacon of white surrounding rotten flesh. Tiny black pupils dot the middle of haunted eyes, and this time, her eyelids do flutter. She sits up slowly, and turns to him. The Doctor is amazed-- I have never seen him speechless. 

"My living dead girl," he breathes, falling to his knees. I can see it now-- circus, fair, shows all over the countryside. He would show her off, and I would draw the curtain, welcoming guests to the unbelievable sideshow. I manage a smile. I reserve the tears for tonight. 

He stands, and reaches out a hand to her. It's an eternity's wait, but when she stands as well... she rejects it, brushing past him. He bristles.

"Speak."

She does not.

"SPEAK!"

She will not. She turns, hollow eyes as empty as they were dead. She wanders. 

-

The Doctor has not left his room in three days. I slip parchment underneath, little notes to him dotted with my blood to remind him there's still hope, but the door never unlocks. 

Then I think of it. The one thing that could get him out. I take the paper, and write with a small bit of hesitation.

_I love you with all my heart. _

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I slip it under the door, and wait. 

The door unlocks. I see his face. He spends a long time looking at me, and I see the desperation in his eyes. Then it appears as though he's had his most brilliant idea yet. He won't tell me what it is.

-

It's late. The sun has gone down-- or it may have just come up. I'm not certain, since I haven't left the manor in days. 

The Body is wandering the halls, wailing in the night, and I can't get a restful sleep. Sometimes, I'll look through the peephole in my door to see her white eyes staring back in. The Doctor makes seven more attempts to talk to her-- to touch her, to coax her to touch him. None of his efforts are successful. She is curious, but cold. 

"She has no heart," he very nearly cries to me, hands braced against his desk. "_That _was my mistake! That was my mistake..." 

"Why would you create a woman without a heart?" I whisper, voice trembling. She's watching us. I can feel her gaze. I wonder if she understands. 

"I was foolhardy," he shakes his head, cursing himself, brushing aside all the notes he's scrawled in goat's blood, "Too hasty. I'm in love with a monster, rejected from Hell itself." I watch him with tired eyes. _That statement is not only true of him._

But he does not appear defeated; frustrated, yes, but there's a melancholy to his eyes tonight, one that is usually eclipsed by desire to create. 

"Did you mean what you said? About me?" He asks it softly, but the way he grabs my hands sends frigid ice through my veins. 

"Yes," I breathe. 

A tear falls down his cheek. "I can't believe it. I couldn't see what was right in front of me all along." 

That's all he says. I stand, alone, in the empty study, looking out the window over the hills of night time, a strange sense of pride washing over me.

_He finally loves me back._

-

A creak awakens me from my sleep. The moonlight shines through, full and silver over my bedspread. 

"Hello?" I call out. It's her again, I know it is. She's walking again, damned to wander without peace. Maybe now that he's noticed me as more than The Assistant, he will abandon her, damn her back to where she came from.

I get out of bed, and check behind my door. Nothing. 

"Begone, evil thing." I try to sound as commanding as he does. The darkness fights to overtake the moonlight seeping in. It's like a curse. 

When I turn to my doorway again, a tall, imposing figure stands before me.

**Enter the Doctor.**

I smile. He comes in. I walk toward him, ready as I've always been. He takes my hand, then reaches higher up my wrist, until I fall into his arms. My eyes close, my lips part.

"Die for me," he whispers into my neck, "Living Dead Girl." 

Pain spreads from my chest and something thick flows to my feet. I barely have enough time to look down and see the ruby red stained dagger in his right hand. 

-

_I'm cold. _

My eyes open. Things smell musty. My eyelids crack as I try to keep them wide. As I attempt to sit up, I realize I'm on a table, and swing my legs over. The first step sends me crashing to the floor.

_I'm so cold._

Footsteps patter, and I see the familiar sweep of The Doctor's cape. He takes my hand to help me up... but it's not my hand that he takes. It's a ghastly white hand, ethereal skin peeling. I try to move my limbs normally, but it feels as though every bone is breaking as I do so. He steadies me, and everything stops. 

He's looking at me as I've looked at him all these years. He finally sees me. He finally wants me. 

I go to reach out to him-- and he takes my hands, lovesick smile overtaking his face. _Is this a dream? _

He pulls me to him tight, and I feel my brittle bones melt into his robes. His beard nestles against the top of my head, and his soft voice hushes me into a lull with sweet nothings. A single white lock of hair falls into my eyes. 

_White? _

As he holds me, my gaze drifts over his shoulder. There I lay, discarded against the wall. My chest is carved open, split from my collarbone to my navel and rib cage opened.

And here I am, ten clean stitches over a beating heart that my body used to contain.

Now that she has my heart, his living dead girl can love him back. 


End file.
